


Hourglass

by TetrodotoxinB



Series: Whumptober 2020 [22]
Category: MacGyver (TV 2016)
Genre: Envenomation, Poison, Spider bites, Vomiting, Whumptober 2020, close enough, day 22, not the fun kind of spider bites tho, okay but really it's
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-22
Updated: 2020-10-22
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:00:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27142816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TetrodotoxinB/pseuds/TetrodotoxinB
Summary: Mac and Jack's vacation goes awry the moment they arrive at their cabin.
Series: Whumptober 2020 [22]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1947493
Comments: 28
Kudos: 44
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	Hourglass

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to [aravenwood](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aravenwood/pseuds/aravenwood) for her extreme kindness in being willing to beta all of these whumptober fills! Especially so since she's also writing her own (amazing!) fics too! Please go check her out and give her some love!!! 
> 
> And thank you, too, to [MedicBaymax](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MedicBaymax/pseuds/MedicBaymax) for his help with the medical side of this. Anything that's wrong is because I probably didn't listen or I misunderstood. 
> 
> Also a shout out to my useless husband, who when asked for his thoughts on the premise of "poison" as a prompt said, "Poison is dangerous. Don’t eat it. Even if the poison taunts you by saying it's delicious." This was not a helpful prompt. You're all welcome to mock him.

“Oh come on, Jack. It’s not that much farther,” Mac says.

Jack groans. “I’m old. Everything is far when you’re old.”

Mac laughs and Jack mumbles something under his breath about how the youth have no respect for their elders these days. It’s not that Jack’s all that tired — they do far more taxing things every day at work — it’s that they’re doing anything taxing at all when they’re off work. But Jack has to admit, at least to himself, that the scenery in these mountains is breathtaking. 

“See? Not that much further after all,” Mac says with a smirk.

And sure enough, there’s the promised cabin sitting a few dozen yards from the edge of a crystal clear creek. Jack wonders which weirdo backpacked all the supplies in here to build it. Certainly the logs were cut from the area, but shingles and roofing paper don’t fall off of trees, to say nothing of the nails and glass windows. 

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Jack says. 

Mac’s brow furrows and he squints at Jack. “Did you think I was leading you out into the woods to kill you for your life insurance money?”

Jack shrugs. “It had crossed my mind,” he says flatly, shouldering past Mac and heading for the cabin.

Behind him, Mac hurries to catch up. “Wait, I'm your beneficiary?” 

Jack grins, though Mac can’t see it. “I’m full of surprises.”

Mac rattles on about how Jack still has his mother to think about — “Nah I got a separate one for her” — and why didn’t he say something sooner — “Because I’m not planning on dying anytime soon.”

Mac mumbles something about not carrying a policy at all because who would it be going to and Jack mentally adds it to the list of bullshit he needs to address when they have time and an internet connection. 

Jack mounts the stairs to the cabin and tries the handle. “It’s locked, hoss. You got the key?”

Mac shakes his head. “It’s under a fake rock around here somewhere.”

Jack sets his pack down with a thump. “You led me on a two day hike into the backcountry and the key to the cabin we’re supposed to be staying in is around here ‘somewhere?’ Mac, I’m gonna have to give you one star on that trip advisor website. ‘Location has beautiful scenery, cabin is in great shape on the outside. I wouldn’t know about the inside because we never got in since someone decided we’d find the key when we got there. We slept on the porch.’ That’s the whole review, Mac.”

“Well, when you’re done rough drafting your Yelp review of an address-less cabin, do you think you would mind turning over some of these rocks to help me find it?” Mac grouses. 

Jack clomps down the wooden steps and starts kicking random rocks, ignoring whatever Mac is up to. “Nope, not here. Nope, this rock doesn’t move, not here either.”

“Ow!” Mac yelps.

Jack stops his petulant rock kicking and turns around. “You alright?”

Mac scowls at his hand. “Yeah, I found the rock, but when I stuck my finger inside to open the mechanism it felt like something stung me. Hurts like a wasp sting.”

Jack pulls out his knife and takes the plastic rock from Mac. He carefully slides the thin blade in the hole and uses it to depress the lever. It clicks and Jack gingerly lifts the flap. There’s the key, alright. As well as five black widow spiders.

“Holy shit! Why are they all grouped up like that?” Jack asks. He shakes the key and the spiders out onto the ground, steps on the spiders, and then carefully collects the key.

“The large one was the female and the four smaller spiders were the males. It’s essentially a harem but in reverse,” Mac explains, still holding his right hand.

Jack looks at Mac’s hand. There’s no visible mark or puncture wound but Mac certainly felt something, and Jack doesn’t like that one bit. 

“Let’s get in the house and see what we need to do,” Jack says, all his playful frustration from earlier now gone.

They take their packs inside and Jack opens a couple of windows to air the place out. They go through cabinets and assess their supplies, and then check the beds thoroughly for any more eight-legged companions. 

“I swear on the entire VHS set of the Die Hard franchise that if I find a spider in my bed tonight I will burn this whole cabin to the ground like we’re in Arachnophobia,” Jack declares. 

“Jack, spiders don’t have queens or generals or mount strategic military offensives. There might be a few spiders in here, simply due to lack of human activity, but you’re not going to find a nest that you’ll have to destroy with fire,” Mac counters.

But despite Jack’s worries a very thorough search of the cabin only turns up a single desiccated cellar spider and three long empty egg sacs. Honestly, the underside of Jack’s sofa is probably worse off, which is something he elects not to dwell on.

While Mac unpacks their things and begins to prepare dinner, Jack goes outside to collect firewood. He’s more than a little paranoid about it now, and he carefully rolls over every log and stick with his foot a couple of times before daring to pick it up. Mac would probably say it’s overkill but Jack has heard horror stories. Hell, he’s worried they’re about to be living a horror story themselves.

Jack mulls over his worry as he makes his way back to the cabin. All the way out here there’s not going to be much they can do besides call for medevac, and Jack knows that Mac would rather weather damn near anything than go through that. He stacks the wood on the porch and heads inside to check on Mac.

“I got some wood. How’s dinner coming?”

Mac nods and swallows. “It’s coming,” he answers, his voice a little tight.

Jack crosses the room immediately and begins to evaluate Mac. “Mac, talk to me. What’s going on?” 

“My hand’s starting to really hurt,” Mac says, and he holds the hand that was bitten out for inspection. 

Jack still can’t see a bite mark or even so much as a red bump, but Mac’s whole hand is wet with sweat and covered in goosebumps, though neither sweat nor goosebumps appear anywhere else on Mac as far as Jack can see. “Is this an effect of the black widow bite?”

Mac nods. “Yeah, I think so. It’s a neurotoxin and it does some strange things. This is sort of the warm up period. If it’s going to get worse, it’ll happen in probably another hour or so.”

Jack carefully releases Mac’s hand. “Shit, Mac. We’ve got nothing out here. No medical supplies beyond my IFAK, no ride out. We’re miles from the nearest ranger station. Hell, I’ll have to hike to the top of the damn mountain to get service on the sat phone. How bad is this gonna get?”

Mac looks down. “Muscle spasms, nausea, vomiting. It’ll be extremely painful, but the main danger is just dehydration from vomiting. If I don’t succumb to that, then the chances of me dying are extremely minimal. There hasn’t been a recorded case of a widow bite fatality in the US in decades.”

“And would that have something to do with medicine, perhaps?” Jack asks.

Mac sighs. “Partially. There is an antivenom but it’s not even always used because it has its own dangerous side effects. We just provide better supportive therapies. Look, it’s probably going to suck but I don’t think there’s a good reason to worry right now.”

Jack sighs and rubs his hand over his short-cropped hair. “Fine. But I’m taking the sat phone to call this in and talk to Dr. Weaver.”

Mac nods. “That’s probably a good idea.”

Jack wonders if maybe Mac is just that sick or is actually seeing reason for once. “I’m taking one of the walkies. You keep the other one on you. Check in with me every fifteen minutes, you hear me? I need to know ASAP if your symptoms are getting worse.”

“Yeah, Jack of course,” Mac agrees and Jack can’t help but narrow his eyes at the kid because he’s agreeing to everything far too easily. “You’d probably better get a move on. I wouldn’t mind you being back by the time this gets really unpleasant.”

Jack nods and gathers the sat phone and walkie. “Be back before you know it.”

The cabin is located in the saddle of two mountains, about halfway between the valley and the peaks. It makes for a shorter hike to sat phone reception which Jack is very grateful for. And even though it takes less time than he expected to finally get a solid signal — a brisk forty-five minute ascent — Jack still wishes he was closer to Mac right now. 

Even with the almost direct line of sight down to the cabin, the range on the walkie is shorter than Jack had realized and their last check-in was simply muffled static. Jack calls Phoenix medical on the triage line and anxiously taps his foot as he waits for it to ring through.

“Dr. Weaver,” the voice crackles across the line.

“Doc, it’s Dalton.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be on a camping trip?” she demands, her voice already worried.

“Yeah, about that doc. Mac managed to get himself bit on the hand by a black widow spider. His affected hand and arm are sweating heavily and have goosebumps. Last time I checked in he said his hand was starting to hurt pretty good,” Jack explains quickly.

“What’s his status now?” she asks.

Jack wishes to hell he knew. “I had to hike up the mountain to get reception for the sat phone. The walkies are out of range. I lost contact about ten minutes ago.”

Jack can practically hear Dr. Weaver frown. “Well, shit. What supplies do you have?”

“My IFAK. I think Mac might have a smaller kit, but I don’t think bandaids are gonna cut it,” Jack answers.

“We can medevac him out, though I know he’ll protest, or we could airdrop some supplies to get you through it. Of course, there’s still the chance he’ll need medevac out even once the worst is past because of how long it takes the poison to get out of your system. He could be sidelined for days or even weeks. I’ll work up an info packet for treatment and what to expect and we’ll get it to your location ASAP. Gimme a minute to talk with Matty.”

“Yeah, alright,” Jack answers. He’s starting to get antsy to get down the mountain and check on Mac, not to mention that the daylight is starting to wane. Jack’s no greenhorn when it comes to wilderness survival, but he doesn’t want to be caught out in bear and mountain lion country in the dark either.

“Alright, Matty’s got the cabin coordinates and we’ll have a drone to your location four hours from now. I assume that once you descend you’ll be out of communication again?” asks Dr. Weaver. 

“Yeah and if Mac’s not doing well I won’t be leaving for phone calls again unless I have to.”

“Alright, sounds good. Make sure to keep an eye out for your drone at 2330 hours. You’ll need to guide the drop with a flashlight so be ready.”

Jack’s guided too many drone night drops to count. This much at least, he’s got in the bag. “Thanks, doc. Talk to you in a few days.”

*****

It’s fully dark by the time Jack bounds up the steps to the cabin, and he’s counting his stars that he didn’t run into something that wanted to eat him along the way. Inside, there’s a single solar lantern lit and Mac is laid out on one of the beds. He’s stripped out of his hiking clothes and put on basketball shorts and a t-shirt, but rather than looking relaxed Mac looks like he’s doing his best to not cry. His eyes are pinched shut and he’s breathing a little too fast for someone who’s lying down. 

Jack hurries over to Mac, dragging a chair with him. “Hey, hoss. Got an update for me?”

“Hurts,” Mac murmurs. “It’s not too unbearable yet, but I can tell it’s coming.”

“Whaddya mean by that?”

Mac shifts on the bed, his right arm moving and revealing an arm shaped wet spot where his sweat, coming apparently only from his affected arm, has soaked into the blankets. “The nausea has already kicked in. It won’t be much longer before I’m throwing up. And the spasms are working their way up my arm. This is already agonizing. I’m not exactly enthusiastic about how much worse this is gonna get.”

“I talked to the good doctor. They’re gonna send a drone with a supply drop and instructions.” Jack checks his watch. “We’ve got another three hours and fifteen minutes before it’s here.”

Mac nods weakly, his eyes already closed again. “You might wanna get me that bucket sooner rather than later.”

“Yeah, I got you bud,” Jack says, and gets up to find something for Mac to puke in

*****

An hour before the drop is due, a storm moves in from the southeast. The weather report they had watched before setting out a couple of days ago had shown it missing them entirely, but the course must have shifted. Jack knows there’s no drone coming tonight, not even if Mac’s life depended on it. They’re gonna have to wait this out.

*****

By morning, Jack is feeling desperate for the airdrop. Mac’s thrown up more times than Jack can count and he’s unable to keep down anything. Jack can tell, just by pinching Mac’s skin, that he’s dangerously dehydrated. If they don’t get supplies soon, he’s calling for medevac. 

Hell, he wants to call for medevac anyway. Mac’s whole body is wracked by spasms that leave him breathless and in agony, tears streaming down his face. Jack wonders if Mac would scream if the spasms relaxed enough to let him draw a full breath, but as it is, Mac’s reduced to shallow panting. 

Jack’s wiping Mac’s face down with a damp washcloth when the sat phone rings. Jack stares at it in confusion for a moment before answering. 

“Dalton.”

“Hey, it’s Riley. How’s it going?” 

Jack dips the washcloth back in the bowl. “Where’s the fucking airdrop?” 

“That bad?” Riley asks, the concern evident in her voice.

“We either need fluids or medevac. So I’m not trying to rush you but what’s the ETA?” Jack presses.

“ETA ten minutes. We went ahead and dropped a comm relay about halfway up the mountain from you. It should give you a boost so that you can call in whenever you need without you having to hike up to get a signal,” Riley explains.

It’s a relief to have a line out in case they need it and Jack could damn near cry. That the supplies are almost there is enough to make him sag in relief. “Good, Ri. Thanks.”

“Yeah, of course. So how’s Mac doing?” she asks nervously.

Jack’s not a fan of talking about people right in front of them and with the drop coming shortly, this conversation would be better had outside. “Hey, hoss,” Jack says soothingly as he rubs Mac’s shoulder. “I’m gonna go outside. The airdrop should be here in a couple of minutes and I need to get it. Just hang tight, bud.”

Mac nods minutely, just enough to let Jack know he heard and understood, and Jack heads outside, closing the door behind him. He leans against the railing of the porch. “I mean you want the truth, Ri? He’s doing bad. He’s pretty badly dehydrated and he’s in a lot of pain. He’s losing a lot of water sweating. Half the damn mattress is soaked from it. And these muscle spasms are really doing a number on him, he’s hurting real bad. Ri, I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“Jesus, Jack. Are you sure this isn’t dangerous?”

Jack shrugs, not that anyone can see him. “Mac and the doc are saying he’s just gotta wait it out. Apparently, keeping him hydrated is about the most they can do. I don’t know. He  
looks like he’s fucking…” Jack finds he can’t finish the sentence and hangs his head. “He looks bad, Ri.”

Jack hears her sniffle and he’s glad that she can’t really see how bad it is. Telling her is one thing, but Jack knows that of all the people she’s ever cared about, Mac is her soft spot. Jack doesn’t wanna hurt either of his kids, but he’s not gonna lie either. He can’t. And besides, he’s got to let it all out to someone that isn’t the doc or Mac. 

“You promise you’ll call for a medevac if it gets too bad?” Riley asks.

“Yeah, honey. Of course I will. I wanted to do it yesterday but Mac and Dr. Weaver thought toughing it out was for the best. And you know Mac, he gets hurt and holes up in the crawlspace under your house like a wounded cat. Wants to lick his wounds in private. He’d rather be suffering out here than in a hospital, even if it being in a hospital meant that he’d get pain meds,” Jack points out.

Riley snorts. “Yeah, that’s definitely Mac.”

Jack hears a faint _whirring_ above him and looks up towards the treetops for the drone. 

“Your package should be incoming in one minute,” Riley informs him. “We’re looking for a safe place to set down now.”

Jack knows there’s a small clearing about fifty yards west of their present location and heads in that direction. He arrives just in time to watch the drone slowly descend to the forest floor.

“We have touchdown,” Riley informs him.

“I’ve got the package,” Jack says. “I gotta set the phone down.”

It’s quick enough to remove the case from the cargo netting and then Jack scoops up the sat phone again and he heads back to the cabin. 

“I’m clear,” Jack relays once he’s out of the immediate area of the drone. Jack has learned that takeoffs from uneven surfaces sometimes have unpredictable outcomes and he wants to be far away from the little unmanned aircraft to avoid any unpleasant encounters should something unexpected occur.

From the treeline he watches the drone buzz to life again and lift off, whirring up and away over the treeline. Then he turns and hurries back to Mac.

*****

Mac is predictably in the same exact place Jack left him, his body still taut with spasms that contort his slight frame unnaturally on the camp bed. Jack sits beside him and cuts open the zip-ties on the case, pulling out the info sheet that Dr. Weaver put together for them and scanning it quickly.

A brief call to the doc confirms Jack’s suspicion — Mac’s pretty severely dehydrated. Jack probably couldn’t start a working IV on Mac without poking him about fifteen times and that’s something no one wants to do, hence the complete lack of IV supplies in the airdrop. Instead, Dr. Weaver has Jack break out the diazepam gel. 

“Does this say ‘rectal gel?’” Jack asks as he eyes the box with suspicion.

“It does,” Dr. Weaver confirms, sounding a tad exasperated by Jack’s childish question. “There’s a lovely informative insert in the box.”

“Alright,” Jack says hesitantly. “Anything else?”

Dr. Weaver points to the dosing instructions in the handout she created for them and leaves Jack with instructions to call back if he can’t figure it out on his own. “This is basically idiot proof, Dalton. Just read the instructions and the insert. Good luck.”

Jack does not find it appealing to use what is apparently an anti-seizure med on Mac who is very obviously not having seizures, but it’s supposed to help with the pain so Jack’s willing to try. He reads the instructions and then tears open the packaging, getting everything ready to go. 

“Hey, Mac?” Jack says a tad awkwardly. “I got some meds for you here, bud.”

“Diazepam gel?” Mac murmurs. 

“Yeah, it’s, gotta go, uh, up your rear,” Jack says, hemming and hawing his way through the awkwardness. 

Mac nods weakly. “I know. Just help me roll over.”

Jack gets his arms under Mac so that he can sort of flip him spatula style, but despite his help, Mac still cries out in pain from the effort of helping Jack move him. 

“Easy, easy. Just let me do the work, Mac,” Jack says, but Jack knows that’s easier said than done.

Jack glances at the guide one more time just to make sure. “Alright, hoss. Hang tight.”

Touching Mac’s butt cheeks isn’t something Jack’s ever thought would come up in their lives and he’s not grossed out by it, but this is definitely one of those personal friendship boundaries they can’t uncross. He lifts the upper cheek and takes the syringe in hand. 

“Here we go.” Jack presses the tip in and Mac flinches, groaning at the sensation. “Okay so when I said ‘hang tight’ I didn’t really mean this.”

“My whole body is locked up in spasms, Jack. That’s the point of the diazepam. Just do it,” Mac grits out.

“Okay, alright,” Jack says defensively. And in his defense, this is one hundred percent outside of his area of expertise. So ignoring Mac’s distress, Jack inserts the applicator, administers the meds, and gets Mac proper again. 

“Alright, easy. Over onto your other side so I can keep an eye on you,” Jack says, and together they do the reverse spatula technique so that Mac is facing Jack.

“How long?” Mac grits out, tears still dripping down his face. 

“Til the meds kick in? Uh, lemme check.” Jack rapidly scans the info sheet, flipping the pages to find what he needs. “Looks like peak efficacy is in one point five hours. So maybe you’ll feel something soon? Like a half hour? I don’t know anything.”

Mac groans, his breath still coming fast and shallow and Jack rubs a comforting hand over Mac’s arm. There’s nothing they can do right now and Jack hates being useless. 

“Bucket,” Mac rasps, breaking Jack’s emotional preoccupation surrounding the concept of uselessness.

He gets it to the bed just in time to catch a small mouthful of yellow bile, the only thing left for Mac to bring up when he vomits. 

“Just hang in there. This should ease up soon,” Jack says. He hopes desperately that he isn’t lying.

*****

An hour later and Mac is resting more easily. He’s not asleep, but the tears have stopped and his breathing has slowed. Jack’s gotten him to drink a bit of lukewarm gatorade and to their great relief, it’s all stayed down so far. 

“You ready to try the good shit?” Jack asks.

Mac nods. “Please.”

Jack can get behind some good old fashioned opiates for pain and he happily shakes a tablet out of the pill bottle. “This is gonna knock you on your ass. Doc said that the gel and this together are basically gonna sedate you. I don’t guess you care much at this point, though, huh?”

Mac huffs a tiny laugh. “Sounds fantastic.”

“Great. Here you go,” Jack says. He carefully places the tablet in Mac’s palm and helps him drink some more gatorade.

*****

It’s lunchtime and Mac is finally sleeping. Jack plans to sleep soon too, but for the moment he’s eating cold, flavorless oatmeal and watching the now slow, deep breaths that move Mac’s chest and belly up and down. Owing to his dehydration, Mac eventually polished off the rest of the quart of gatorade once the nausea eased up. 

With Mac finally looking and feeling better, Jack is overcome with exhaustion. The thing is he wants to sleep and he knows there’s no reason not to, but his years as Mac’s overwatch have him on high alert. Everything Jack knows about black widow bites is that they kill. And yeah, he trusts Mac and Dr. Weaver, but he also trusts over four decades of folks telling him how dangerous it is. It’s a hard mindset to shake. 

Disgusting oatmeal eaten, Jack gets up and quietly steps outside to clear his head. The mountain air is admittedly refreshing, especially compared to living in LA, and Jack knows they’ll have to make another trip out here — or at least somewhere like this since this particular cabin has lost its appeal — once Mac’s better. 

Frustration. That’s what Jack’s feeling. Work is hard — taking their best years and beating their asses left, right, and center. Jack gave up hope for a real family with Diane and Riley, but he’s gotten lucky that they’re back in his life. Mac’s also the son he never had and that’s fulfilling too, but it’s not raising his own kid or getting married or settling down, something that he’s getting to be too old to do anyway. But Jack knows that for all he’s missed out on life, Mac’s got even less. No family, no kids, no wife or partner. Mac’s alone and only has his Phoenix family because like everything else in his life, he’s built it himself. 

And on top of that giant shit sandwich is a giant serving of shit sauce because not only do they give everything to work — fuck they give everything to the world — then the world turns around, and the one damn time they try to take a break and enjoy themselves, a tiny fucking spider goes and fucks it all up. 

Jack feels bad even thinking of it in terms of himself because he’s not the one who puked his guts up last night or was crying in pain or got meds shoved up his ass by his grungy old man coworker. And this was supposed to be Mac’s vacation anyway; Jack was just tagging along to keep Mac company. 

This whole thing is all kinds of fucked up and Jack just wishes they could go back home and get some takeout. That of course brings up the fact that they’re eventually going to have to hike out of here and Jack can’t imagine that going well either. The doc said that Mac could experience weakness and pain for days or even weeks. How that’ll translate to them getting back to civilization remains to be seen. Jack fully expects to be camping several extra days on the way back. 

Jack rubs his hands roughly over his hair and sighs. He’s gonna need a vacation from the vacation when he gets back. Either way, Jack’s gonna need sleep before anything else so he drags his ass back inside, folds back the covers on the other cot to check for spiders, checks everything for spiders maybe just one more time, and then settles down to sleep, periodically jerking awake to the sensation of spiders crawling all over him. 

This is gonna be a long, _long_ trip.

*****

They stop at the first hotel they find with a vacancy — some ratty little dive with maroon shag carpet, wallpaper from the seventies that’s covered in gold and purple exotic birds, and threadbare black sheets. Jack tries to ignore any stains he sees, instead opting to throw a few coins in the magic fingers box attached to the bed.

“Mac, this is awesome. Dude, after sleeping on rocks this is like angels giving you a massage,” Jack shouts over the din of the bed vibrating. It sounds vaguely like a wagon full of metal pots and pans being driven across a field of rocks. 

“Yeah, I think I might pass on the whole being shaken thing. Probably won’t do the vertigo any good,” Mac shouts back.

“Oh, yeah. Sorry,” Jack mutters. 

Mac rifles through the bag of supplies they picked up from the store, pulling out some clean clothes and heading to the bathroom to get changed like Jack hasn’t seen everything Mac has to offer up close and personal. Jack gets it though, he’d probably do the same thing despite years in the Army, probably even more so after something so awkward and personal. 

The bed keeps clanking horribly and Jack closes his eyes, determined to enjoy the magic fingers before the whole frame collapses and he’s electrocuted or impaled on a spring or something. This last week and a half have been utter shit and despite sleeping during that time, absolutely none of it was restful. Jack stayed on high alert even in his sleep, waking for the smallest noise or threat. 

But now that they’ve made it out and Mac’s been checked out at the local hospital, Jack can finally rest at ease. Mac’s got a clean enough bill of health and they have food to eat that isn’t airdropped MREs. Just knowing that they’re finally free and clear is almost enough to put Jack to sleep, even with his stomach still rumbling.

“Hey, Jack?” Mac calls from the bathroom. 

Immediately, Jack’s chill goes from zero to eleven and he’s across the room, peering the bathroom, in two seconds flat. “What’s going on?”

“Woah, easy there, Jack. I was just gonna ask, since I’ve got medical leave for at least the next two weeks, if you wanted to go rent a room on the beach and hang out drinking mojitos or whatever. How would that sound?”

Jack nearly collapses from the combination of unspent adrenaline and exhaustion and sags against the doorframe. “Uh, yeah, that sounds great.”

Mac smiles brightly, and Jack knows he’s already caught. “Great. I’ll find us a place once I eat.”

Jack nods and wobbles back to bed to lie down for more therapeutic shaking. He’s finally settling back down, nearly asleep, when a horrible thought occurs to him and he starts awake.

“Mac?”

“Yeah, Jack?”

“Are there jellyfish where we’re going?”

Mac looks up from his phone, his mouth full of lo mein. “Yeah, why?”

“Aw, fuck,” Jack says. There’s no way this can end well. 

He throws his arm over his eyes and tries to sleep. He can tell that he’s going to need it.


End file.
